There’s a razor blade slasher reducing the population of strippers in New York. What the heck, man? These ladies perform a vital service to society and you wanna kill them? Messed up, dude. This sets the sex and violence mood in 1983’s American Nightmare, a low-grade/low-rent slasher flick filmed in Toronto, home of Pothole Filler Imperial Stout™.

So there she was, naked in a hotel room, about to close a business deal with a client, when the messed up dude pulled out a razor made for shaving, and cut her throat — and she didn’t even need a shave! Again, messed up.

Earlier, Isabelle (the stripper-slash-hooker-slash-slasher victim) left messages for her brother to come save her from danger. (In New York, that could be anything from a serial killer to a dirty public toilet seat). He doesn’t know he’s way too late, and searches every strip joint in town. Gotta love his methodology; hope he brought a lot of small bills — to, um, buy information, of course.

The guy (Eric) hooks (sorry) up with a dancer (Louise) and they both go on the empty-lead search. In-between all of this is LOTS of bold displays of the female anatomy set to music and an increasing bare body count. There’s even a sex scene that, back in 1983, was likely rated-X. By today’s standards and practices, it would only fetch a PG designation. But hey…ladies dancing without the muss and fuss of clothing. Like I said, a VITAL service.

The killer in this gritty slasher flick gets it in the end. Okay, that didn’t come out right. Regardless, his identity came as no surprise. What IS a surprise was the transvestite hooker. A surprise to her clients, anyway. Ha!